The Great Grandfather and the Venerable Man
Part 3
There is a poem by Mayan K'iche' poet Humberto Ak'abal called ‘Prayer’.
In the churches
you can only hear the prayer
of the trees
converted to pews.
I have felt this way. I remember being in Washington DC and listening to a North American indigenous professor give a PowerPoint talk on native culture and the natural environment, and after seeing slide after slide of scientific data on land use and water conservation, chemical fertilizer alternatives and diversity of seed stock – all important topics – I left in tears, weeping for the wood paneling on the auditorium walls, the living wood listening, and being ignored and unacknowledged for its contribution, unacknowledged for the very reason such a talk should interest us at all -- the kinship we have with that natural world.
The planet will be rescued or doomed not on our ability to better manipulate the environment, but on our ability to see with clear eyes, to see it as inspirited as we are inspirited, enchanted as we are enchanted, as the living system that we are a small part of, and that we are in relationship with.
The first two parts of this series were about two trees, welcomed as honored members of two tribes, the Omaha Tribe and the Mayan 'tribe'. Since publishing these, I have heard of one other similar case. What’s going on here? A Mayan man, having lost family in war, weeps for trees who, in their long lives, see more suffering and carry more memories. What’s that about? Jesus, considered sinless by many, faces off in the gospel against a tree and in a moment of cosmic tension, not getting fruit to eat, he strikes the tree down and leaves it dead (Matthew 21:18-22). To his credit, Jesus did not consider himself sinless, but why would this enlightened being, this son of God, lose his temper at an ‘inanimate’ object and leave it dry and withered?
I have three stories told to me by people I trust.
‘I was walking through the forest to an altar I had never visited before. I lost the trail, and began to feel uneasy. It was a long way through the forest. I controlled my emotion and began to listen, and each tree I came to gave me a direction, go straight, or turn one way or another. With their help, I walked straight through the forest and directly to the altar.’
‘It was cold and I was tired. I decided to crawl into a tree for shelter and try and get some sleep. It was big inside, and I found a wood ladder. I climbed the ladder up to a loft that was prepared with fresh straw. It was soft and warm and I slept like a baby. The next morning I payed close attention to where the tree was, knowing I would return someday. I returned many times and searched and searched, but never found that tree again.’
‘I was alone in a country where I felt there was no one to support me. I was kneeling in a small clearing and trying to ask for something, for help. I heard a voice saying "you are not alone." I opened my eyes and somehow a circle of trees seemed to have gathered around me.’
OK, that last one was mine.
How the tree came here
I do not know;
How it held me up I know.
So what’s the point of these stories?
Trees are just one part of the natural world, this world we share with other inspirited beings. It won’t do us any good to all go out and try and talk with trees, or with the bees on our flowers or birds in our birdfeeders. It WILL do us good to try and keep our conception of the world centered in a community of brothers and sisters, including the trees, that we share divinity with. For the Maya, it is the sacred wind that breathes the spirit into us all, human, animal, plant and mineral. The first step to preserving the natural world is a clear vision of what, and who, the natural world is.